Attack of the Killer Stairwell
by Maria Rene
Summary: Mary's day goes downhill, quite literally, when she has to chase after a witness-turned-suspect. Absurd one-shot that demanded to be written before I could go back to my other projects.


Disclaimer: Not mine, thank goodness... who needs that kind of stress?

This is just a little annoying bit that was demanding to be written, and then threatening to insert itself into Shadows of the Soul once it was written. So I'm fighting dirty, and posting it as a one-shot before it torments me further. No real point... I just got to thinking about an NCIS piece I'm working on, and how Mary would react in a similar situation.

* * *

Mary's house was dark when Marshall turned into the driveway. He wasn't surprised. Jinx Shannon had taken to going to bed early since she'd gotten that job teaching ballet. She'd made a great many good changes in her life, actually, but he was most thankful right now that the woman was probably asleep. He shifted the car into park before carefully extricating himself from the driver's seat of Mary's car, grabbing a pharmacy bag just before he closed the door. By the time he came around to the passenger door, his partner was already out of the car and moving unsteadily on crutches toward the house. He'd been immensely frustrated by the five-hour wait at the hospital, five agonizing hours watching her eyes close every couple minutes as she held her breath and willed herself not to cry, watching her stew in rage at her own body for being weak and in pain, before she was able to see a doctor. But now, watching her struggle to carry herself, knee brace visible below the jogging shorts she'd borrowed from him, bare toes peeking out from the splint protecting her foot and ankle... now, he was glad it had taken so long. The dark of night meant her neighbors wouldn't see her like this, wouldn't realize the one thing that Mary most wanted to hide about herself – that she was, in fact, merely human.

It had been a bad day from the start, really. Paperwork with a couple who were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. They seemed pretty nice, too, except the husband had spent the entire morning flirting with Marshall, while the wife smoldered silently with rage, and Mary smoldered quite loudly. Then lunch, which they didn't even get to finish because one of Mary's witnesses picked today to stand atop a five-story building, threatening suicide, because his girlfriend called the cops after he took a swing at her. And of course, he picked the only building in Albuquerque with an out-of-service elevator. Way to maintain an anonymous life, Mary had groused, along with quite an assortment of colorful words, as she stomped up the stairs. By the time Marshall caught up with her at the roof, she had been about ready to shove the witness off the ledge herself. He was about that pissed, too, really, but Marshall carefully packed those feelings away for later, while Mary ranted and raved like a lunatic. Maybe he should try that sometime, he mused, as he remembered how the witness stared at her in complete shock, then came away from the ledge, sobbing about how nobody had ever cared about him enough to yell at him before. Marshall knew when he'd gotten the job, that witness protection tended to involve working with some of the weirdest, most broken-spirited people in the world, but now and then, somebody came across his path who just gave new meaning to the word dysfunctional.

Unfortunately for him, and ultimately for Mary, the man stood quietly talking with the marshals, then remembered the cops on the ground were still riled up about this whole domestic violence thing. He suddenly bolted through the doorway of the stairwell, taking them three and four at a time, even hopping over the railings to clear half a floor at once, with Mary and Marshall struggling to keep up while barking information to the police on the ground.

That was when the day's downhill slide really picked up momentum. As they came to the last flight of stairs, Marshall stopped intently watching his feet hit the stairs, and turned his attention momentarily to the door that would lead them to the sidewalk, doing what he could to evaluate the situation that they were about to charge into. And in that one moment that he glanced away from where his feet were going, Marshall had slipped on a bald spot in the skid-proof stair treads, one leg sliding out ahead of him as he began to skid down the steps. He grabbed the railing hard, stopping his descent, but not before his foot rammed into the back of his partner's leg, throwing her down the last four steps, nearly headfirst. He didn't really remember getting up from his own fall and scrambling down the last five or six steps to his partner's still, almost lifeless body. But he was pretty sure he'd never forget the way she screamed "no" as she tried to fight the inevitable, or the way it echoed in the concrete cavern. Or the soft, almost pleading groan when he brushed her hair away from her face to assess her condition.

It could have been so much worse, Marshall thought, as he watched his partner's battered body struggle to unlock the front door. A badly strained knee, a moderate ankle sprain, a bruise in the pattern of the stair tread on her thankfully unbroken ribs, with scrapes on her hands and arms from protecting her head. An ego bruised by being taken away from the scene in an ambulance, right in front of God and everybody, even the local police. But even though the pain was nearly unbearable, it would improve quickly, and her body would heal within just a few days. He walked away with extensive but mild bruising, and a day's worth of painkillers, that he probably wouldn't even need.

"You need to keep it off the ground," he commented gently, watching the way she'd rested weight on her bad leg to unlock the door.

"What I need is to take a shower and wash this horrible day away, and crawl into bed. But I can't even do that," she groused.

"We can put a chair in the shower, and I can re-wrap your leg once you're done, if you want."

"No, Marshall... you should go home, and go to sleep. You're going to have enough on your hands with me off work for a few days, as it is." He raised an eyebrow at that. There was no way he was going home tonight, but he didn't have the energy to get into it with her, not now. Not when all he really wanted was to take one of those stupid painkillers and stretch out on her couch for the night. Wordlessly, he watched Mary hobble down the hall to her room, grabbing her a glass of water before he followed. When he got to the bedroom, she was pulling pajamas out of her drawers, and he set the water down next to her bottle of painkillers.

"Do you need anything else?" he asked. "Dinner, maybe?" Mary shook her head.

"All I want is to sleep. Maybe I'll get lucky, and wake up to discover this was all just a bad dream." Marshall almost chuckled at her weary honesty. There was something enchanting about it.

"All right, then. Call if you need anything. Good night, Mary."

"Okay... night," came the tired response. Marshall swung the door shut before traipsing down the hall, taking a painkiller with a sip of water, and sprawling out on the couch in the dark. He couldn't quite sleep, after the excitement of the day, but he relished the dark and quiet. He loved to lie back and just let his mind wander after such a trying day, to have time to unwind before exhaustion would fully overtake him.

He was half-asleep when he heard the distinct scraping click of a door opening, somewhere in the house. Instantly a little more alert, he remained still, gazing around in the dark as he listened to somebody shuffling down the hall. When that somebody got to the kitchen, a small lamp turned on, illuminating the kitchen area, leaving Marshall's side of the room still in the dark. Mary limped towards the refrigerator, apparently having decided she was hungry after all.

"Pretty sure that's not what the doctor meant when he said to keep weight off it," Marshall said, his voice rough and low from tiredness. Mary nearly went through the ceiling as she spun around to face him. She recognized his voice, but that didn't do much for the burst of adrenaline that had hit her bloodstream in that first instant.

"Damn it, Marshall, I told you to go home," she said angrily, flipping on a brighter light so she could see him. Marshall shrugged as he got up from the couch, coming into the kitchen. "I don't need a babysitter-- hey, no!!" she shrieked, slapping at his arms as he easily swept her off the floor and carried her into the living room. He gently sat her on the sofa, injured leg propped up on the coffee table, before speaking again.

"A while back, Mary, you told me that it's my job to protect you. Shut up and let me do my job." Mary glared at him, but she held her tongue, mostly because she didn't think she could contain the twisted sense of delight that was quickly smothering her offended sense of independence. What was wrong with her? She'd only told Marshall it was his job because she didn't want him to quit, and she certainly never dreamed that he'd decide that protecting her meant he could veto her decisions like this. And yet... and yet there was something weirdly soothing about it, she thought, as she watched him forage in the fridge, looking for something he could feed her.

"There's two science projects, some iced tea, that fake velveeta cheese crap, and a bag of salad that... actually looks fresh," Marshall said, turning to face his partner.

"Salad's fine," Mary replied. "I'm not that hungry anyway... stomach's just too empty to sleep." Marshall nodded in understanding.

"On a completely unrelated note," he continued, "we're going to make a list, and do the grocery shopping, in the morning." Mary scoffed at that.

"No, you're going to work tomorrow, because my witnesses act like it's a freaking full moon whenever I'm on leave," she shot back, shaking her head in frustration.

"I don't think I can do that," Marshall replied, faking a grimace of pain. "My bruised back, I just don't think I can take it without a Vicodin, and you know I can't be working when I'm on that stuff." Mary rolled her eyes, watching his usual relaxed expression return as he turned off the act, and busied himself preparing her food. She'd expected that he would insist on staying with her tomorrow, but it annoyed her still.

"Fine, if you're going to take the day off, you can stay up and entertain me tonight, since I can't sleep." She knew that had been a mistake when she saw Marshall's face light up.

"Hang on, I have a copy of Back to the Future in my overnight bag!" He grinned at her muttered string of curses and insults, while he prepared a salad for her to eat.

"There's usually grilled chicken strips in the freezer," Mary suggested helpfully. "They just heat up for twenty seconds." Marshall nodded as he followed her instructions. He left the food to sit while he bagged some ice for her injuries, setting them on the table by the couch. He'd make her use them once everything else was situated.

"Did you take a painkiller?" he asked, doubling back for the food. Mary sat silently, unwilling to lie, and equally unwilling to answer truthfully. Marshall sighed. "I'll get that for you, too." Mary didn't bother to answer, instead picking up the remote and surfing through the movie channels, looking for something good. Good TV, she thought, was already an oxymoron, without considering that it was probably two in the morning. But she finally found something, in between the pseudo-porn and the infomercials. It wasn't a movie she recognized, but the information didn't sound half bad... at least it didn't sound like the kind of movie where she'd have to take the cable box out back and put it out of its misery. Mary continued to grumble, but accepted the salad, and painkiller, when her partner presented them to her.

"I know, you don't want the meds, but your body really can't rest and heal if it's in so much pain," he explained. "And God knows, you need to heal so I don't have to deal with your pain-in-the-ass witnesses on top of my own caseload." Mary wrinkled her nose in disgust at Marshall's gripe, but they both knew it was all in jest. Protecting the witnesses, regardless of whose were whose, was not only their job, but their very lifeblood. As much as they hated some of the people, some of the jobs, and a great many of the days, they were both committed to the very idea that when an ordinary citizen risks his life to help protect society from criminals, it's only fair that those who've committed their lives to the whole "protect and serve" thing, would stand up and protect that citizen.

Mary waited patiently for Marshall to sit down next to her, before she rearranged herself, turning sideways to lean against him with her feet up on the sofa. Marshall pulled the light blanket over her before reaching his long arm down to lay ice on her knee and ankle, getting grumbled curses from her in reply. He smiled a little at that. Mary hated... well, he wasn't entirely sure. She claimed to hate the cold, but he suspected she really just hated needing to take care of herself. He always suspected that, before her present job, her plan had been to hunt down criminals at full steam until she either dropped dead of exhaustion, or charged into the wrong situation and got herself killed. Taking care of her body, nurturing injuries, really didn't make much sense for a woman who, Marshall suspected, didn't really intend on living long enough to develop joint problems from the constant abuse.

"You're a really good keeper," Mary muttered about half an hour later. "Nice and warm." Marshall raised one eyebrow at the woman curled up against his bruised body, clutching his arm firmly in her hands. He used his free hand to reach across to the end table where he'd left her painkiller bottle, picking it up to read the label. Percocet, at a fairly strong dose.

"Oh, I bet you feel nice," he muttered, realizing his partner was high as a kite. Mary nodded, rubbing her cheek on his arm in the process as she kicked the sacks of melting ice off, and turned over on the sofa. Marshall instinctively reached out to support her body, cradling her in his arms as she fell asleep almost the moment she got comfortable. He sat quietly for a few minutes, pondering this. He should carry her to her bed. She'd sleep better, he'd sleep better, and she would hit him if she woke up like this, come morning. But when he stretched his legs out, preparing to get up, Mary whimpered in her sleep, hanging onto her partner for dear life. Oh forget it, Marshall thought, using his feet to drag the coffee table near, so it would support his legs better. He'd been trying for years to break through her prickly exterior, and he wasn't going to walk away from this tiny shred of progress. Today, she let her defenses down while drugged and sleeping, but maybe next time, it'd just be one or the other, he mused, and someday it might just be her own conscious decision. Whatever she did to him in the morning would be worth it.

* * *

You see what kind of psychopath muse I have to put up with?! Now you see why I had to put Shadows of the Soul on pause, before she mucked it up too badly! Hopefully now that we've taken that little side trip though, we can get back on track with the main journey.


End file.
